


When He Died (Death Doesn't Discriminate)

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: The Other 51 [31]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Cemetery, F/M, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Happy, Poor Aaron Burr, Sad, Self-Hatred, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: July 12th creeps up on them all like a summer storm. They expect it, but they don’t really notice it’s here until it’s right on top of them. Days pass, the summer drags on, nothing apparent is amiss.Alexander doesn’t forget. How can he? Even if he forgave Aaron the moment the bullet left the barrel of that godforsaken gun, he still has nightmares of the pain, of the cold, of the dark, of the guilt.He wakes up that morning, as he does every year on this day since he was fifteen, with the unshakeable awareness that this was the day he died.





	When He Died (Death Doesn't Discriminate)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry in advance.
> 
> Thanks, Ring. Please don't kill me.

July 12th creeps up on them all like a summer storm. They expect it, but they don’t really notice it’s here until it’s right on top of them. Days pass, the summer drags on, nothing apparent is amiss.

 

Alexander doesn’t forget. How can he? Even if he forgave Aaron the moment the bullet left the barrel of that godforsaken gun, he still has nightmares of the pain, of the cold, of the dark, of the  _ guilt _ .

 

He wakes up that morning, as he does every year on this day since he was fifteen, with the unshakeable awareness that this was the day he died.

 

He doesn’t act any different, not really. His arguments are subtly sloppier, he’s not as affectionate, and he writes even more than usual, if possible, but he still goes about his day. Dying hasn’t stopped him so far, and far be it to stop him today.

 

Jon notices it, of course he does. Jon knows him better than just about anyone in the world. However, he doesn’t push. He doesn’t mention it. He just gives him space and promises to be there if Alex needs him.

 

Alexander doesn’t plan on needing anyone, not today. Today he’s alone, and that’s the way it’s always been.

 

Today he is alone until Libby knocks on his door at 7:30 in the evening holding two to-go cups, a Tupperware full of sandwiches, and an odd bouquet.

 

“C’mon,” she says, barely giving him time to tug on his shoes and yell at Jon that he’s going out before she pulls him out the door.

 

“Where are we going?” he asks as she hands him his cup. It’s not coffee but some kind of tea, bitter and tasting vaguely of mint and lemons. 

 

She doesn’t look back, just continues her walk as she says, “Trinity Church.”

 

Alexander feels as if the breath has been knocked out of him.

 

“Why?” he asks quietly.

 

“Because we need to,” Libby replies, just as quiet.

 

It’s the first time Alex sees his own grave. He can tell it’s not the first time Libby sees hers.

 

It’s the first time he cries on July 12th. He can tell it’s not the first time Libby does.

OoOoO

Theodosia is the one to notice the slow fade of Daniel declining more and more invitations, spending more and more time in his room, avoiding Alexander at every turn.

 

She doesn’t put the pieces together until the day of. She doesn’t connect it all until the door is locked and all she can hear from inside are broken sobs. The picture on the puzzle becomes clear in that moment, and Theo doesn’t know what to do.

 

“Please let me in. Aaron, please,  _ please _ let me in,” she begs, resting her forehead on the door. She gets no reply but a choked cry at the mention of his name.

 

She sits with her back to the door hand her hand under the crack at the bottom. It takes an hour, but she can’t help but sigh in relief when she feels Daniel place his own on top of hers.

OoOoO

Libby wakes up before dawn and sits on the small balcony outside of her room in the apartment she and Ange share. It’s quiet, or as quiet as it ever gets in her city, and she gets to watch the sunrise over the New York skyline.

 

It’s funny, how she still mourns Alexander’s death even after all this time. Even once he’s alive and just as loud and ambitious and obnoxious as he always was. Even after she has her own death to mourn.

 

And yet, here she is, sitting on her balcony with a mug in her hands and tears on her face.

 

When the sun is high in the sky and the half-quiet has dissolved into the usual roar of the City, Libby goes back inside. She doesn’t have work today, she doesn’t have any responsibilities or obligations.

 

Her calendar is clear, just as it is every July 12th.

 

She gets dressed, foregoing her usual pale blues, mint greens, and lavenders for navy and eggplant, which is as close as she gets to black these days.

 

She’s worn enough black for every lifetime.

 

Ange is already gone by the time Libby makes it down to the kitchen, but she’s left a note and, as always, a bundle of marigolds, asphodels, and white lilies. It's not the most beautiful combination of flowers, but that isn’t the point.

 

She puts the flowers in a vase. She’ll come back for them later.

 

She goes on a walk, gets lunch, sits on a bench in Central Park and feels the breeze blow through her hair. She jots down a few stanzas in a battered old notebook, one she’s had since she was ten and only uses once a year.

 

It’s seven by the time she gets home, by the time she makes tea and sandwiches and gathers the flowers.

 

Every year since she was ten, this has been her tradition. Every year since she was fourteen and allowed to take the subway by herself, she’s done it alone.

 

Now, she packs another sandwich and another cup of tea and makes a stop before she heads to the church.

 

She and Alexander get to the cemetery around eight, and she places the flowers on his grave, just as she does every year. She sits in front of it, just as she does every year. She talks, just as she does every year.

 

Only this year, Alexander is by her side.

 

She takes his hand, and they both allow themselves to cry.

OoOoO

For Daniel, this day isn’t so much a summer storm as a hurricane, ever looming and growing bigger and bigger every time he looks up.

 

He can’t ignore it, can’t pretend it’s not there. All he can do is prepare for it and stand in the wake of its destruction.

 

He closes himself off, slowly but surely. He spends more and more time alone. He can’t bare to see them all, to see Alexander. He shouldn’t  _ have _ this. He shouldn’t  _ have _ Alex’s forgiveness or his friendship.

 

He sure as hell doesn’t  _ deserve _ it.

 

The day comes, and Daniel doesn’t have the motivation--doesn’t have the  _ strength _ , never had the strength, was never  _ strong enough _ \--to get out of bed.

 

Why is the sun shining? Why are the birds chirping? Don’t they know?

 

Daniel is pinned to his mattress by the weight of his guilt, of his regret, of his mistakes--except it  _ wasn’t _ . It  _ wasn’t  _ a mistake. He  _ knew _ what would happen if he aimed that pistol, and he knew what would happen if he pulled that trigger.

 

Every year it’s worse, every year heavier with the knowledge that he’s had another year he didn’t earn, that he’s got a second chance that isn’t justified in the slightest.

 

And now, now with Alexander his number two on speed dial, now with Alexander as the one he talks to when the world gets to be too much, now with Alexander who  _ defended him _ and  _ calls him his best friend _ , the crushing pressure on his chest was unbearable.

 

He didn’t know how long he laid like that, gasping on tears and broken breaths, but it was long enough for Doddie--his wonderful Theodosia, who never saw the man he became--to knock and ask him to open the door.

 

She calls him Aaron, and he feels as if he's the one with the bullet between his ribs.

 

He didn’t want this. He’d never wanted this. He just wanted to be  _ Daniel _ . He just wanted to be  _ free _ .

 

But he never would be.

 

He’d never be free of these memories. They were his to bare, his to carry, even if their force felt suffocating.

 

The idea sat upon him like a king on a throne.

 

He saw Theo’s fingers from beneath the door. Through it all, despite everything, she was here.

 

He wouldn’t allow her courage to be in vain. He sat on his side of the door and rested his hand on top of her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Ha. Haha. Ha. So. That happened.
> 
> Please tell me what you thought.
> 
> Sorry.


End file.
